Mend
by Verdreht
Summary: After the events in the school, with the therocephalians in the canteen, Matt visits Becker in the infirmary. In the process, he ends up revisiting his directives: namely, the 'no attachments bit. His mission has to come first; he knows that. He just didn't expect there to be so much competition. Coda to episode 4x04. Part 4 of Matt/Becker AU Verse.


He didn't ride in the back of the medic's van with him. He'd be lying if he said he hadn't thought about it, hadn't nearly stopped them as they took Becker out on the stretcher, and bummed a ride.

The state he'd been in, pale-faced and fading in and out of consciousness, it was enough to close a vice around his chest. Becker wasn't supposed to look that way. Even after Matt had popped him in the chest with an EMD charge, he'd been on his feet. A bit worse for wear, yeah, but if it had been anyone else, they'd have been laid up for the rest of the day. Becker was strong, or else just too stubborn to get hurt like that.

But he was hurt. Matt could still see it, the tightly-twisted grimace when he'd examined the wound. He could still hear the strangled groan as he'd packed the wound with salt. He could still feel Becker's blood, hot over his hands, no matter how many times he tried washing them. Becker could have died. Still could, if the medics didn't hurry and they couldn't get the antidote sorted.

The thought was like a kick to the gut. He'd gotten so use to him. Becker was just this...entity. This constant. People could think what they wanted to about Matt being the leader, but it was Becker that was the pillar. He held them up, kept them going. He kept them alive, and Matt had never thought about what it would be like without him until that moment.

So, no. He hadn't ridden back with him. Hadn't kept watch over what the medics were doing, hadn't held his hand or whatever it was people did in those sorts of situations. He'd had a job to do, and Becker would've reamed him a hundred times over if he'd shirked his responsibilities to sit with him.

After, though, when they'd gotten back to the ARC and he'd finished all the proper documentation and jumped through all the necessary hoops, he'd made a trip down to the infirmary. Jess had passed on word that he was stable and resting until he'd run the last of his treatment, then they wanted to keep him an hour or so for observation, to make sure he didn't have any reactions to the medication. Standard procedure, he supposed, if there was a standard to anything they did.

The point was, they'd finished with him, so there was nothing and no-one to stop him from walking in and pushing aside the curtains to the bed they'd partitioned off to check in on him.

The relief caught Matt a bit by surprise. It was getting harder to say he wasn't attached to these people. He wasn't even sure it was possible, anymore. Not after today. Not after he'd felt his stomach drop at the sight of Becker sitting on the ground, blood soaking through the leg of his fatigues. Not after those minutes in the freezer, when he couldn't seem to breathe until Becker's chest rose the next time.

Maybe he was getting attached. And maybe he should back out of those attachments before they got too strong or caused any problems. But for the time being, he just couldn't be arsed. He had other things to worry about.

Becker was sleeping. Sort of a strange sight, really; unlike some, Becker didn't sleep on the job. Even some of their overnight calls, he would keep watch the whole night and not even look tired. Probably a skill acquired from his days in active service, carried over. Or maybe he just didn't trust people enough for it.

There he was, though, eyes closed and breath coming in steady, even puffs. He had a cannula run under his nose, an IV in his arm, and a few monitors here and there, but otherwise, he could've just been having a lie down. He was even still wearing his tac gear, though Matt could tell from his leg, propped up on a pillow and not covered by the blanket they had pulled up to his waist, that they'd done away with his trousers. Did answer the question of boxers or briefs, at least. Becker was a briefs man. Which was entirely asinine information, but it was odd how nearly watching a man die made things seem significant that wouldn't have been before.

He didn't stir at first. Minutes must've ticked by. Matt had taken to perusing his charts, reading the medic's report on the wound and his condition, what kind of antidote they'd given him, his discharge instructions. He was off work for the week, from the looks of it, pending a follow-up examination. There was a prescription for painkillers, the strong ones. Good.

A low groan drew his attention from the charts back to the bed, and he sat the clipboard aside in favour of returning to the side of the bed. Becker was restless. His head turned this way and that, and his legs started moving.

Matt decided that was a good time to step in, putting a hand on Becker's shoulder. "Hey, hey, hey," he said as Becker groaned again and started to stir, voice low so as not to startle him. He knew better than most not to wake a man like Becker cold. He might not have been a soldier in this world, but a survivor was a survivor, no matter what title they operated under. His heart rate was already picking up, though it was hard to say how much of that was unease, and how much of it was pain. Either way, "Settle down. You're alright."

Slowly, Becker's eyes blinked open. He winced at the light, but his eyes eventually adjusted. His brows furrowed. "Matt?"

"Got it in one."

He tried not to take it too personally when Becker frowned. Something told him it wasn't for him, and it seemed to confirm his suspicions when Becker started to try to push himself up. Not a minute awake, and he was already being stubborn. At least he was getting back to usual form, if not physically then at least in disposition.

All the same, glad as he was to see Becker taking the initiative, he got the impression it was something he should hold off on for the time being. "Think you need to take it easy for a bit. Keep still, at least until one of the medics gets the chance to have a look at you."

"I'm fine," Becker said groggily. Still not quite awake yet, it seemed. And it might've been more convincing if he wasn't the colour of the blankets and speaking through gritted teeth. He'd mostly managed to get sitting up on his own power, and he reached up to pull the cannula off.

"You should leave that."

If it had been anyone else, Matt would've thought he hadn't heard him. But with Becker, he knew better. He heard him; he just ignored him, pulling the tubing away from his face. Stubborn as anything, Becker was. Even looking like hell warmed over and gone cold again for good measure.

When his hand went for his leg, though, Matt decided to put his foot down. He caught Becker's wrist, ignoring the sharp way Becker's eyes cut up to him and saying, "Leave it." Two words, spoken with authority. It was the first Becker had really seemed to hear him, or at least listen to him. Matt seized the opportunity. "You've got a few hours yet before you're done with the treatment; they won't clear you to leave until then, so you might as well lie back down and get some more rest." What Matt didn't tell him was that he'd have plenty of chance for rest over his coming week of forced medical leave; that was a fight that could wait, preferably for someone else to have it.

Becker's frown deepened, but Matt could tell he was still running on empty. His hands shook. His face had paled even since he woke up, and sweat had beaded on his brow. All his movements were sluggish, clumsy: two things Matt would never use to describe Becker normally.

The surest sign that he wasn't up to speed just yet, though, was when he actually laid back down. He went stiffly back down against the mattress, and Matt offered what help he thought Becker would accept with the hand he had on his shoulder.

"Breathe," Matt reminded gently. It looked like Becker had stopped; his whole body was taut as a bowstring, and Matt could see his jaw muscles working as he tried to work through the pain. Muscle cramps, weakness, body aches – all were things the charts had identified as possible side-effects of both the venom and the treatment. "How're you feeling? Honestly." Because it would be just like Becker to offer some bullocks brush-off, pretend he was better than he was.

Which was why he was surprised when, with a deep breath through his nose and a soft hum, Becker replied, "Like I've been run-over by a lorry. How are you?" It was the sort of mock-pleasant voice Becker used when he was bloody miserable but trying not to be an arse about it.

Matt smiled despite himself. "I can't complain."

"Lucky you."

"Aye, lucky me." And without really realizing what he was doing, or giving it much thought, he reached over and fixed Becker's blankets. He caught himself a moment after, and glanced up to see whatever odd look he'd figured Becker would be giving him. Only, Becker didn't even seem to notice. He had his eyes closed again, nose flaring around slow, deliberate breaths. Deep breathing. Pain management. Even half-drugged out of his mind and recovering from moderate surgery, he was the product of his training. Still, he shouldn't have had to be. They were in a bloody infirmary, for Christ's sake. "I should get the medic."

But Becker shook his head. "No," he mumbled. "I'm fine." He took a breath. "I'm fine." And another, and another. He wasn't sleeping just yet, but from the looks of him, it wouldn't be long before he was. The drugs were doing their work, and his body was worn down and desperate to catch up.

Matt knew he should leave. He wasn't doing anything there, just standing around, and there were things he could be doing in the office. Yet, he didn't move. Didn't even really seriously consider it. A few more minutes couldn't hurt, he reasoned, and Becker could use the company, if only to keep him from seeing himself out of the bloody infirmary on a whim. No, a few more minutes would be fine.

Just a few.


End file.
